


crepusculum

by valkyriedoe



Series: Cornua Decem Verse [1]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Violence, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:55:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28731534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valkyriedoe/pseuds/valkyriedoe
Summary: Small communities have their secrets and writer Matthew Graham is going to find out the secrets of Hope County the hard way. trying to find justice for young Diana Crawford, Matthew leaves his home in Maine to uncover the truth about the girl who seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth in 1993, he would quickly find out that he was just another man following the sirens call.
Series: Cornua Decem Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2106276
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> [introduction/prequel to my far cry 5 main fic. originally planned to be a short multi-chapter fic but you know]

If this was a movie, it would start out with a sweeping shot of Bar Harbor’s landscape, showing the rainy coast, the empty streets, closing in on some carelessly tossed aside trash. A cup from a no-name coffee house in the town, some fast-food wrappers. A shot of your everyday man hurrying down the streets, desperately trying to escape the harsh wind only the early fall in New England could bring. The opening scene would stop at Matthew Graham, standing in front of the old police station looking at the old and weathered missing person posters. 

Even though, most curiously to Matthew, who frequents the old police station quite a lot, one of the posters seemed to look less weathered than the others, despite the year next to the big and bold LAST SEEN reading 1993. 

Matthew used to be one of those kids who swore to every god and entity out there, he would one day move out of his boring town. Bragging and boasting about leaving to live in a _cool_ city like Los Angeles, Atlanta, Washington, New York City, maybe all if it struck his fancy. He had big plans on becoming one of those who don`t care for anything but a good story type of journalist, interviewing people on the front lines of tragedies, celebrities, survivors, always winning the race to the front page of the most established publications in the states. 

But now, here he was. Back in the town of his childhood, back in Maine, back in the town he so vehemently swore to leave behind and never look back, scouring the old bulletin board of an old abandoned police station. 

Bar Harbor was less of a shithole these days, his sister said when he moved back in. They`re expanding, you know, she said. Moving the old buildings to a newer, fancier part of town. _What fancy part?_ Matthew had asked, not recalling any part of Bar Harbor that should`ve been associated with the word fancy without some negative connotation in front of it. _Oh, you know,_ she said, _the old Wittler`s creek and stuff_. 

_Wittler`s creek and stuff_ . Some rich guy from Boston must`ve taken quite a shine to this old and rusty town to be so interested in chopping down an, albeit pathetic, forest and fill up a creek full of people`s discarded house appliances to build a new police station, postal services, and hell, even a fucking _Target_ up there. Bar Harbor`s mayor was probably wiping his ass with Franklins these days, Matthew thought. 

It was strange seeing your childhood town again after so many years, so many things changing and yet so many things staying the same. He had been greeted with his fair share of mockery and, that one stung more than he wanted to admit, a lot of questions about Heather, his high school sweetheart, and now ex-wife. He tried waving off those questions as best as he could and decided to simply let the rumors roam free. They would anyway, whether or not he was trying to stop them. 

Matthew stretched, his bones still hurting from moving all of his stuff into the attic of his sister's house. They were probably also hurting from years and years of sitting at a desk with a posture that would make Quasimodo green with envy. He was also getting old but he would never admit it out loud. 

After he decided to leave Boston and his old job behind and moving back to his sister to help her after her husband's sudden death, he also had to figure out that arguing with your sister was a whole lot harder when you both were adults and both of your parents were dead and nobody would come to step in to break up the fight once it got to heated.

Matthew had recently decided to stop attending his therapy sessions and AA meetings, voicing his frustration with both his therapist and the people in the meetings. He was not interested in affirmations of his mental strength, he didn`t want to be coddled, he wasn't a child during one of those anti-drug PSA`s they used to hold in High School. His younger sister Sarah was not happy with this development. A firm believer in all things modern medicine, open communication, and the sacristy of a well-framed degree hanging over someone`s desk, she was convinced the therapist and the AA meetings were all he needed. Matthew loved his sister as much as an emotionally detached older brother could love his sister but something about the woman he still remembered as a pig-tailed little girl playing with Raggedy Ann dolls giving _him_ advice irked him. 

So he left. Slammed the door like a pouty teen and left. 

Creativity walk, he said. Gotta get his head clear again. 

And what would be better than the harsh and unforgiving wind of New England? 

He stared into the deep blue eyes of the girl in the missing person`s poster in front of him. The corners of her mouth brought up into the typical forced wide smile of school photos, her eyes were not smiling with her. Matthew thought he could see this unspeakable sadness in her eyes, a sadness so jarringly out of place on such an angelic and youthful face.

Matthew was not someone to call a spiritual person; he was a believer in creating your own destiny, making your own choices and, on his less charming days, he even frowned upon those who visited the church on their own will, those who prayed for themselves or others, those who put their lives into the hands of some unseen force. He used to think so even before the baby. 

But right there, on this unusually cold August 18th in 2018, standing in front of this old board with the weathered remains of pictures of children once loved, looking into those blue eyes of the girl in front of him, he felt like things were falling into place for him. 

He heard of people trying to solve cold cases, making those talk shows on the internet, rehearsing all the information available, theorizing all about the whereabouts of the person, sometimes with enough detached professionalism it bordered on cold-heartedness. 

Matthew's decision was solidified when his eyes slowly darted down to the rest of the information about the girl.

HAVE YOU SEEN ME 

DIANA THEODORA ELIZABETH CRAWFORD

HEIGHT: 5’5” (165CM) WEIGHT: 110LBS (49KG)

HAIR: BLONDE EYES: BLUE 

LAST SEEN: MONTANA STATE HOSPITAL, MAY 29TH, AROUND 12 PM. 

CALL EDWARD HUGHES 

_Last seen Montana State Hospital_. Matthew lingered on the words, the wheels in his head beginning to turn. Nobody had seen her since 1994. A young, beautiful girl, disappearing from the face of the earth. Seemingly. He began to wonder if there was any information out there. Any article. A body, maybe? 

He looked around, suddenly feeling like he was doing something illegal. 

Then he ripped the poster off and hurried down the street, back to the house he grew up in, back to his sister, ignoring the feeling that he was being watched. 

People always said small towns have their secrets. Matthew Graham would soon find out exactly how deep the secrets of Falls End truly ran.


	2. Chapter 2

“What do you mean you’re leaving?”, Sarah said, looking much older than 38 with her apron and oven mitts. 

“You heard me”, Matthew answered, still scouring the scarce information on that missing girl from Montana. 

“Alright, Matt, you know what? No!”, she tossed the mitts aside. Matthew glanced up at her and there was a strange feeling of melancholy and nostalgia when he noticed that she looked exactly like their mother. 

“Alright, I don’t have a fancy degree from some fancy school but do you think I’m stupid?”

  
“What does have a degree to do with thi-”

  
“Don’t you think I’m not reading the signs? You quit your AA meetings, you quit your therapy sessions, you still haven’t unpacked all of your shit upstairs and now you’re talking about leaving. What do you think I’m gonna do? Let you go like that and then a couple of weeks the cops call me and tell me they pulled your damn body out of some river!”

Matthew snorted sarcastically. 

“Jesus Christ, Sarah, I’m not gonna off myself, the hell is wrong with you?”

Sarah scoffed and returned to whatever she was preparing for dinner, while Matthew turned his attention back to his laptop. 

No information available on this Diana Crawford, no body, no confirmation that sheˋs been located. 

He found some articles on Edward Hughes. His promotion to Sheriff in the Hope County Sheriff’s Department. Something about him breaking a fishing record. Nothing much. Diana Crawfordˋs missing persons page has not been updated at all, all just information already found on the poster. Disappeared right from the mental ward of the Montana State Hospital, never to be seen again. Blonde. Blue eyes. Way too thin for her height. 

Gone. 

Matthew once again lingered on the picture someone uploaded. Then at the age-progressed picture, someone at the Sheriff’s Department had made. 

_Wonder if Hughes himself had to make it, Matthew asked himself. The bittersweet feeling he had watching his little girl grow up in a simulation right in front of him, knowing, deep inside that he would never get to see her grow up like this._

Matthew filed this away for his future interview questionnaire for the good Sheriff. 

_Truly wonder if he really had to do it_ , he thought, feeling some sort of ache in his chest at the thought of it. Then, far less emotionally he added; _Doesn’t matter if the real Hughes did it, his book versions gonna._

Matthew had a new york times bestseller once. Back when this meant something. Now every goddamn book you bought was a fucking new york times bestseller. He never managed to get a manuscript as good as his first one and the thought of being remembered as a one-hit-wonder instead of an established writer gnawed on him but he would rather swallow a pound of gravel with some watery mushroom gravy than admitting his ego was hurt. 

He clicked on another link, a scanned page from the local newspaper in Hope County, talking about Sheriff Hughes threatening legal action against a reporter asking about his missing daughter. Matthew found that to be odd. What kind of father wouldn’t want to get all of the information available out there to the masses, hoping his little girl would eventually return to him. 

In another world, he would’ve done the same. 

He quickly shoved that thought aside, focusing on another article, this time an amateur blog post by someone calling themselves a “web sleuth”. Matthew had no idea what the hell a web sleuth was supposed to be but whatever it was, that blogger must not be a good one because they did not find out anything about the disappearance of that girl. They state that the people of Hope County were an odd bunch, welcoming as any rural folk was but strangely tight-lipped when it came to Diana. One of them, an older guy called Rendall Wedler, said Diana apparently had plenty of reasons to leave. Then he refused to elaborate, claiming he had already said enough. The blogger then adds that there must be something going on, theorizing foul play, stating they would investigate further. 

The next blog post was about Madeleine McCann. 

_Figures_ , Matthew thought. 

He watched Sarah a little bit more after hitting enter on his google search for hotels across the north of the US, already mapping out the trip he would have to take. 

“I found this poster today, you know”, he began in an attempt to get rid of the tense atmosphere in the old kitchen. He remembered when it had this disgusting lime color back in the eighties. One of the only pleasant things about coming back here was seeing the old house remodeled. It filled him with a weird sense of pride that his little sister did this. 

“Uh-huh”

“Weird, this girl disappeared from a mental asylum in the early nineties and nobody ever saw her again. Someone went to talk to her father and all but he threatened to sue. It’s like she was just swallowed by the earth and was never seen again. And it’s like people didn’t want to ever see her again. Weird, right?”

“You’re gonna write a story about this, aren’t you?”, Sarah asked, sounding almost exasperated. 

“Matt…”

“Oh, spare me with the armchair psychology, Sarah”, he answered, already annoyed again. 

“It’s weird”, he added. 

“I feel like…It feels like a weird pull you know. Some gut feeling that I have to do this.”

He grabbed the poster, holding it up at Sarah. 

“Look at her. She was a fucking kid and she had her life _taken_ from her.”

“Sounds like you’re projecting a little bit there.” 

Matthew stopped, still holding up the poster, glaring at his younger sister. 

“The hell is that supposed to mean? You think just because I never got to be a dumb teenager ‘cause I had to look out for _you_ I’m suddenly feeling some type of connection to her?”

This statement was closer to the truth than Matthew liked. Matthew’s mother died when Sarah was really young and his father’s health deteriorated shortly after. Sarah took care of him as best as she could but Matthew was also bound to staying home, only getting some downtime with his then-girlfriend Heather Anderson. He never got to be just stupid, young, and reckless. He never got to live out his dreams of just packing a bag one day, take his bike and leave. 

Now was the time for this. 

What did he have to lose at this point?

He was divorced, unemployed, and living with his sister in the home he grew up in. 

Sarah looked at him. 

“No, I mean that you see a father who lost his daughter. Just like you lost yours.”

She immediately brought her hand to her mouth, blue eyes wide open in shock, obviously not believing that those words really just came from her. 

Matthew looked at her. 

“I’m gonna go to bed”, he simply said, closing his laptop. 

As he went upstairs, he ignored Sarah’s apologies, desperately wishing he was still in denial about his addiction, craving a drink now more than ever. 

_Screw my progress_ , he thought. 

He opened his laptop again, searched _Hope County, Montana_ , and began reading any article he could find. From fishing records to watering holes to obituaries to the actions of some neo-church (he skipped that one, he had no interest in reading about some wannabe good samaritans), to…anything else. 

He slept a couple of hours, knowing he would not risk his life driving to Montana of all places, and then before the sun even went up entirely, he silently packed his bags and left, promising to himself - and Sarah - to apologize and go back to his AA meetings once he returned. 

Little did he know, this would be the last time he would ever see his childhood home and his sister ever again. 


	3. Chapter Three

Some people would call Matthew’s actions a _midlife crisis_ , but he had to strongly disagree. He was sure of what he was doing; there was no desperation behind his actions. Besides, his crisis had been going on far longer than _just_ his midlife. He loaded his motorcycle on the back of his truck, called some hotel in Chicago where he would spend the night, bought some wonderfully disgusting coffee from a gas station, and left. 

With his interviewing equipment, two thousand dollars in cash, and his laptop in the back, he felt more alive than he ever did living in Bar Harbor. He felt like his journey was giving him _purpose_. 

There was a small part inside of him - remains of the child that was so awestruck by the chapel in Bar Harbor, the child that so wilfully absorbed all of that talk about sin and redemption and _love-thy-neighbor_ \- that felt genuinely bad for hoping something dramatic happened to that beautiful young girl on the missings person poster. But, on the other hand, _what a story this is going to make if I find something_. 

Matthew shook his head. Heather always hated journalists; she always felt much more comfortable writing her fiction books because at least no real person got hurt during this. How she sometimes loathed journalists and their lust for anything dramatic, anything that would bring them to the cover of some prestige magazine. But, for Matthew and many others, it was a job like any other. He paid bills, taxes, it brought food on the table and even made one or two vacations a year possible. Spa-Hotel, first-class flights, and anything. Of course Heather never complained about his job during _those_ outings. 

He arrived in Montana two days after leaving Bar Harbor. He had blocked Sarah and any of her friends who could contact him, deleted all of his social media off his smartphone and turned his GPS off. He felt… good about this. He felt _dangerous_. Like he was on the run. 

From criminals obviously. Not his past haunting him and him leaving his hometown to escape the memories trying to chase another fifteen minutes of fame. That would be _utterly ridiculous_. 

The Montana State Hospital was a hideous building. _I’d run from here too_ , he thought. 

He parked in the visitors’ parking lot and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked pale and older than he was, his face still gaunt from all of the weight loss he went through when he got sober. The lack of sleep definitely showed. He tried to get his hair to look at least the tiniest bit cleaned up, straightened the collar of his sweater, and left the car. 

He turned on his phone to record anything he might hear inside, hoping it would catch more than the rustling of his pockets and some annoying waiting room music. 

If there was one thing Matthew learned during his time as a journalist, it was that it didn’t matter if you belonged in a place, as long as you _acted_ like you did. 

He walked right up to the front desk, casually leaned on it, and put on his best and brightest smile for the young brunette nurse sitting on a chair on the other side of it. 

“Hey, my name is Matthew Graham, I have an inquiry about one of your former patients”

“Hello, Mister Graham, I’m unsure if I’m gonna be able to help you. Doctor-Patient Confidentiality. I hope you understand this, Sir”

He expected something like this but he would not give up without at least _trying_. 

“Well, I am asking because my niece used to be a patient here and it’s been so long since anybody has seen her so… I just figured I’d ask you”, the smile just broadened. 

The girl behind the desk just furrowed her brows. 

“What’s your niece’s name then? Let me see if I can help”

“Diana Crawford”

The girl scoffed and turned around, tapping her colleague on the shoulder. 

  
“You hear that, Grace? Diana Crawford’s got _another_ uncle. Just a little while longer and we’re gonna have the whole family tree together”

The colleague turned around and laughed, eyeing Matthew from top to bottom. 

  
“At least this one looks like he _might_ be related”

Her expression then turned serious, taking on a more stern and exasperated look. 

“Seriously, Sir. We get these kinda people twice a month. Would you just let this poor woman rest? Y'all treat her like she’s the necklace from _Titanic_. Cut it out, would ya?”

Matthew bit his lip. _Well, shit._

“Alright, fine. Can you at least give me some details on her? Why was she here to begin with? I saw an article that mentioned that she was mentally ill and-”

“Sir, I’m giving you a fair warning. I see the look on your face. I see the way you’re swaggering about - you’re city folk. You guys don’t realize that some things are better left alone. This is one of them. Leave it be and go back to whatever place you came from.”

“I take it you were there when she disappeared then”, Matthew said, ignoring whatever the nurse called Grace just told him. 

The woman looked once again unimpressed by his presence. 

“Well. If you gotta know, yes I was. She stole _my_ uniform and just walked outta here”

“Never to be seen again, huh?”

Again, a stern look on her face. 

“Leave this be” 

_Did she see her again? Were they hiding something? Should he try and get into the room with the patient files when nobody was looking? Was this really worth catching a felony for?_

_Yes_ , whispered a voice inside of him. _Yes, yes, yes, yes_. 

He swallowed. 

“You get a lot of people like me?”

Nurse Grace scoffed. 

“Every fucking month one of you vultures come by, those… those… Honey, what are they called again?”

“Podcasters”

“Yeah, podcasters. Disrespectful bunch. Going around poking around in somebody else's business. Leave this be”

 _Guess I’ll have to go straight to the source of this then_ , he thought. He originally had no interest in visiting Hope County - he’d seen the articles. He had no interest in churches, fishing or hiking, or whatever the fuck they got up to when the moonshine wore off, but it seemed like this would be the only place he would be able to find out more about Diana. 

Other people would’ve taken this as a sign to stop. To just turn around and leave. Or to simply decide to take a vacation here in the treasure state. Not Matthew though. The more obstacles that appeared in front of him, the more he wanted to find out what happened to this girl. 

He was no expert on body language - or, people in general - but he could _see_ that the reaction of Nurse Grace was… odd. More than the usual protectiveness a nurse had over her patient files, she seemed almost… unsettled. Surely, a normal patient walking out and stealing some scrubs back in the nineties was no reason to have such a reaction. She still had her job; apparently, it didn’t have any lasting effects on her career here. But why was she acting so strangely then?

Matthew knew that the answer had to lie somewhere in Hope County, Montana. 

He thanked the nurses nonetheless, electing to delete the evidence of miserable failure right as he walked outside and sat back in his car. After downing the rest of his now-cold coffee, he left for Hope County. 

* 

He really didn’t _want_ to enjoy the scenery, but he did. Montana looked even more impressive in real life than it did on the google image results and Matthew, only used to the bleakness of both Bar Harbor and Boston, was more than awestruck. Fields and fields of absolutely _nothing_. No skyscrapers to be seen. 

Matthew was so enraptured by the scenery he did not notice the sign on the side of the road that read _Fall’s End: 15 miles_. He also did not see the person on the road, having seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Matthew slammed the breaks, knocking over his new cup of cheap gas station coffee and hitting his chin on the steering wheel. 

“Jesus fucking Christ dude, where the fuck did you come from?”, he cursed as he got out of his car, checking on his bike on the back in the process. 

“You are not from here”, the guy said, obviously unharmed and unfazed by the entire situation. 

“Yeah, well… How do you know?”, he said, cautiously. 

“License plate”, the guy answered. 

“Oh.”

Matthew eyed the guy in front of him. He was shorter than him, with that same shade of dirty blonde Matthew had - minus the streaks of grey, though. The stranger had large blue eyes and something about him did not seem quite right. Not even the fact that he just appeared out of nowhere. Just… something about him seemed off. 

The guy was wearing sneakers, jeans, and a hoodie, nothing out of the ordinary. Yet, Matthew was slightly unsettled by the guy. And not just because he just dodged a huge fucking lawsuit by getting the car to stop just in time. 

“Hey, man… Sorry, I almost hit you. I swear you appeared outta nowhere”, Matthew awkwardly chuckled. 

The guy in front of him mirrored his awkward smile. 

“Yes”

“What?”

Matthew took a step back. _Was he high? Drunk, maybe? Or just… not quite there?_

“You are looking for someone”, the guy determined. 

“Um…”

“People call me V sometimes”, the guy added. 

“Oh… Okay. Well, people call me Matthew all the time”, Matthew said, stretching out his hand. 

The guy looked at it. Then looked back at Matthew. 

“People who come here barely leave, Matthew. What makes you think you are going to be different?”

Slightly threatened by this, Matthew answered: “My sister will come looking for me. She knows where I am”

V just cocked his eyebrow at him, not saying anything. 

“People used to have birds with them in mines, warning them should they dig too deep and uncover something they shouldn’t have. Do you think you’ll hear a warning when the same thing happens to you?”, he said after looking at Matthew’s truck for a while. 

“Uhh… what”, Matthew brought out. 

“When you reach Fall’s End, stay at the Spread Eagle. Mary May always got a room for a man looking for answers”

He heard a bird sing somewhere in the distance and was only now made aware of how eerily quiet the woods were. He was no expert on the local fauna in rural Montana but even a city slicker like him knew that on a day like this, there should be _some_ noises. Now, only the distant chirping of a bird. 

“Good luck, Mister Graham”, the man then said, waved, and continued his way through the forest. 

Matthew stared after him until his vision got blurry and the strange man merged with the trees in the still green forest. He rubbed his neck and checked his car for any dents. 

He arrived in Fall’s End a couple of minutes later, unable to miss the place the strange man on the road had mentioned, considering its giant blinking neon sign right above the small building. 

_Classy_ , Matthew thought. He saw some horses tied to a hitching post in front of the bar, a small yellow dog sleeping soundly next to them, besides the loud music coming from the bar. 

  
Matthew parked the car in the driveway of the bar, carefully watching the dog, fearing that it might get under his wheels. _Would make a shit impression if I ran that puppy over five minutes after arriving here_ , he thought to himself.


	4. Chapter 4

There was jolly, upbeat music playing, its sounds echoing out to the streets. As Matthew got out of the car, he looked up at the now dark sky, taking notice of all the clear stars above. He never wanted to believe how bad the light pollution was in the city but moving back to Bar Harbor and now standing here, he couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of it. When he was a boy, coming from a town built on the fishing industry, he read _The Indifferent Stars Above_ and even if most of the details of the book - besides the cannibalism - didn’t stick with him, the phrase _indifferent stars_ stuck with him. 

Another man would’ve stood there longer, admiring the stars, but Matthew was a journalist, not a philosopher, so he finally got a move on and entered the bar. 

A bell above the door rang, causing multiple patrons of the Spread Eagle to turn around and look at him, followed by some elbow bumping and more people turning around. The only thing truly missing was a comedically timed record scratch to accurately accentuate the awkwardness of Matthew’s arrival. 

_It’s a small town - of course they recognize a stranger._

They also probably sniffed out his city heritage by his shoes alone. 

He usually wasn’t a fan of stereotypes but the horses hitched to the post outside and now the looks and outfits of the folks inside the bar just made him chuckle involuntarily. They looked _exactly_ how he imagined the people here to look. 

Matthew tried his best to ignore the judgemental and suspicious looks of the patrons and walked up the front of the bar, where a blonde woman was clearing out a glass. She was also eyeing him, but she looked decidedly less judgemental than the others. 

“Hello. May I talk to Mary May, please?”, he asked, leaning over the counter so as to not have to yell over the loud music and the continued chatter of the other guests. 

“You’re already doin’ it”, the young woman in front of him answered, putting the glass aside and crossing her hands in front of her chest. 

He tried not to let the surprise show on his face. He halfway suspected an older woman with a weathered look and an old-fashioned perm she refused to get rid of solely because of nostalgia. Maybe some blue eyeshadow and an aggressive red lip color. But the woman in front of him had a small frame, shiny blonde hair and freckles all over her face and shoulders. She was tanned and definitely still in her early twenties. And yet, she already had that _don’t fuck with me_ aura he expected from a woman running a bar in rural Montana. 

“I heard you are renting rooms”, he then said. 

  
“Yep. Ten a night. I’ll do your laundry for five more. If you need a tour guide, look for Jim at the general store across the street. Don’t ask me for directions.”

 _Charming_ , Matthew thought. He then pulled out his wallet and put a hundred on the counter. 

“I don’t know how long I will be staying but that should suffice, right?”

Mary eyed the hundred, held it against the light and then stuffed it into her bra. 

“Yep. Room’s right up the stairs. Hope you like noise.”

Matthew sat down on one of the chairs, ordered a beer from Mary May and eyed the people in the bar once more. Most of them had returned to their activities, only few of them still glancing his way to check him out, but soon enough, they seemed to forget that he was really there. After being on the road for such a long time, only drinking lukewarm soda and cheap gas station coffee, the cold beer was a blessing. He knew that he _technically_ shouldn’t be drinking, but a single beer never hurt anyone. 

“What brings you here? You’re a bit too late to enjoy your summer vacation and too early for the fall activity. You running away from someone?”, Mary asked. 

“I am looking for someone”, Matthew answered and again leaned over the bar. 

“You heard of Diana Crawford?”

Despite the dim light of the bar, Matthew saw her expression change. She looked around cautiously, seemingly checking the crowd for a certain person. Then she leaned over, looking into his eyes with a serious expression on her face. 

“You better be careful about saying this name out loud, alright? It ain’t your business but you gotta be careful. Lot of people don’t appreciate any mention of her name. Lot of people willing to whoop someone’s ass too, alright?”

Matthew looked at her, confused, but didn’t say anything. She was young; maybe she just remembered the overly exaggerated stories of that girl, just like folktales and rumors tend to get embellished over time. He was old enough to know that one testimony did not make for a good story. He would be better off asking more people, especially more of the older residents - people who weren’t still in diapers when that girl disappeared. 

He mentally kicked himself. The local bar owner was always the best to get information out of - he knew that - but of course, _here_ it had to be a girl young enough to be his daughter. Matthew gave her a polite smile. She did not return it - just looked at him with a hardened expression. 

“I ain’t stupid. I know you’re gonna continue askin’ people. But don’t come crawlin’ here when Sheriff Hughes puts a shotgun in your face. Or if that crazy fucker in the north-”, the rest of the sentence got drowned out by the loud cheering of the bar patrons as another Johnny Cash song started playing. Matthew filed that information away for later. 

He seldom believed in things like intuition or fate or whatever other stuff people tried to sweet talk their reality with, but he began to suspect that maybe there was something bigger going on. Something strange.

_Are they covering something up? Did someone they knew take her? Did Hughes kill her himself and now people were covering up for their Sheriff, too afraid of what he might do? Did they do something to her that brought her to the point of insanity, disappearing from the county as a last effort to escape her tormentors?_

He did not know much about other crime cases, but Heather always had a morbid curiosity when it came to the many Jane Does they found all over the country each and every year. He had to admit that one part of him also found some strange fascination in the missing women when he began looking them up, hoping he’d recognize Diana’s face among them. 

Heather always felt sorrow when she looked at them, claiming how heartbreaking it was that nobody truly knew who these women were. _Someone is sitting at home, missing them and they are in some cooler in some morgue in some police station, can you believe it? Some mother is hoping every day that her little girl would come home and her little girl's remains are in some cardboard box marked with a big red question mark. Horrifying, really._

Matthew himself always cared more about the storytelling aspect of Jane Does. It might make him heartless but what use would it have to mourn these strange women? They were already dead. He wanted to know what happened to them. Where every bruise came from. Why they were found in the desert with sawdust from a tree native to the Appalachians in their hair. 

Diana Crawford was no different for him. What a story this would make if he found out what happened to her, or, god forbid, he _found_ her alive somewhere. 

He read some stories about girls who went missing in the late ‘90s or early 2000s, only to show up more than a decade later, alive, able to tell their story. What if he found Diana somewhere, maybe in someone’s basement, maybe just hidden away somewhere? 

Matthew imagined people camping in front of bookstores to get a copy of his book once it was released, like they did when the last Harry Potter dropped. He imagined his interviews on TV, all the autographs, all the praise for his undying drive to find out what happened to a girl who went missing almost 25 years ago. 

_Tomorrow_ , he said to himself. _Tomorrow I’ll start interviewing people. Maybe I’ll even find that Wendall Redler or Rendall Wedler guy. Who knows?_

*

Matthew woke up as well-rested as any person not sleeping in their own bed _could_ wake up. The sun was shining right in his face and the air was thick in the tiny room he rented. The few things he brought with him sat atop of the old wooden dresser, his laptop and phone charging on the nightstand next to him. 

It took him a while to adjust to the new surroundings but once he did, he was overcome with a strange sense of peace. He finally fulfilled one of his many dreams he had set aside when he married his high school sweetheart. Here he was, in a strange town, far away from home, not having to care about anyone he left behind. He could imagine Sarah sitting in the living room of their old house, drinking coffee with her friend, chatting about what an asshole Matthew was for just leaving, but he knew Sarah would not be able to stay mad at him once he returned. 

He heard voices from downstairs and decided to join Mary May - whose voice was clearly audible despite the multiple doors separating them. He swung his legs out of the bed, washed his face, combed his hair, the usual morning stuff before putting on a clean pair of jeans and going down. He slowly began to feel the ache of strain of having sat in a car for an extended period of time and he groaned. 

He was surprised to find the bar downstairs already full of people and he felt a twinge of sorrow in his chest. _Was that really my life once?_ , he thought. Admittedly, only two of the patrons had a beer in front of them but Matthew couldn’t help but think about all of the times he spent the morning at a bar, already drinking his first whiskey. He shut down those thoughts and casually sat down next to the group of older men, who all eyed him suspiciously once more. 

“Morning, gentlemen”, he said. 

“Would you be okay with me asking you a few questions?”

“About what?”, growled one of them. 

“Do you remember a girl that used to live here? Diana Crawford?”, he said. 

“You mean Diana Harding, right?”, the first guy said. 

“Wait, the Sheriff’s girl? Thought her name was Diana Bell.” 

“No, you dumbass. Her grandmother’s name was Bell.” 

“Then why is Ed named Hughes?”

“‘Cause that was his father’s name.”

“Then who the hell is Crawford!”

“Her mother was Crawford. God, you really don’t know shit in the Henbane, do you?”

“Well, I know that her name used to be Harding because of that old sunuva bitch in the convent.”

The first guy shook his head. 

“Lincoln, I worked with Hughes for years. You oughta know he don’t take kindly to folks trying to dig up the past. But my lips are sealed.”

Matthew looked at the man in front of him. He was large, well built and he would’ve bet a franklin that he was ex military. There was something about the way he carried himself, the straightness of his collar, the hair cut. 

“Mister Lincoln, may I ask you a few questions? I promise I will conceal your identity in my publication-”

“Whoa, what publication? What the hell are you trying to do here?”, one of the other patrons demanded to know. 

Matthew cleared his throat and puffed up his chest in an attempt to appear equally as large as the rest of the table. He watched as Mary put a tray on the table and began setting out plates with a concerning amount of eggs. Boiled, scrambled, fried - he even saw a poached one. As he eyed the thick cuts of bacon, his stomach growled and he just noticed how hungry he truly was. Mary gave him a polite smile. 

“Sorry, Mister Graham, didn’t know you were up. Your plate will be next. How do you take your coffee?”

“Black”, Matthew answered, fumbling with his recorder under the table. 

“Well, what are you trying to publish?”, another man, wearing a blue trucker hat asked. 

“A book detailing the case of Diana… uh… Diana.” 

The man eyed him with an expression on his tanned face Matthew couldn’t quite place. 

“Listen, I know someone from a big city when I see one. Lemme tell you somethin’ about Hope County since you ain’t from around here”, the guy continued, shoving his hat into his neck. 

“We like dealin’ with shit ourselves, a’ight? We don’t need help from outsiders, an’ we _clearly_ don’t need some fancy city guy to be digging around in things that ain’t his business”

“I am simply trying to help find out what happened to this sixteen year old girl, I’m not trying to bust your moonshine operations, okay?”, Matthew huffed indignantly. 

He received several angry side glances from the other men focused on their breakfast, but he saw that blue hat guy and Lincoln exchanged a look. 

“So, you don’t know?”, blue trucker hat said, earning him an angry kick from the guy sitting across from him. 

“Don’t know what?”, Matthew tried to pry. 

“Nothin’”, the guy mumbled, taking a long drawn out sip from his coffee. 

Lincoln tore his eyes away from his friend and looked at Matthew. 

“Where you from? Can’t place your accent”

“Maine”, Matthew explained with no intent to get into any more details. 

“You came all the way from Maine trying to hunt a ghost, huh?”, Lincoln smiled. 

“Can’t say you’re the first one. Certainly the first one older than thirty, though. How’d you hear ‘bout her?”

“Internet”, Matthew lied. For some reason he wanted to keep the missing persons poster a secret. They probably already thought he was insane for simply coming to Hope County to look for someone who went missing in the nineties; he didn’t want to amplify that suspicion by telling them about the strangely unweathered poster he found in Bar Harbor. 

“Hm”, Lincoln simply said as Mary put down Matthew’s plate and coffee in front of him. He thanked her, making a mental note to tip her generously before his departure. 

“All I know is that she disappeared from the Hospital. I want to know more”

The men exchanged several looks. 

“Alls you oughta know is that _his_ bitch is rotting in hell where she belongs. Lord forgive me”, one of them said. 

“Go enjoy the scenery. The Valley is beautiful”, Lincoln just said and continued eating his breakfast. 

The rest of the men finished their breakfast in tense silence too, but Matthew couldn’t stop thinking about the various reactions he’d heard from the residents. About how everyone's body language changed once her name fell. Why anyone would call an obviously mentally ill teenager a bitch and hope that she rotted in hell.

What the fuck was going on in this county? 


	5. Chapter Five

After breakfast, Matthew went out to Fall’s End and began interviewing various people. Fall’s End was much smaller than he thought it would be but he had no place to judge much, considering Bar Harbor’s size. Most people immediately recognized that he was new and always bristled when he asked his questions, showing him various reactions ranging from displeased to angry to suspicious. Matthew began to feel like he was going around asking questions about the devil himself. He grew more and more desperate as he began to notice that people _knew_ Diana Crawford, they simply did not _want_ to talk about her. And Matthew wanted to know why. 

He eventually found himself standing in front of Edward Hughes’ house, fumbling with his recorder. He still had no more information than he had before he made the trip here. There was surely something strange going on in this county - stranger than the usual secrets people from a small town wanted to keep from the outsiders. The people had been kind to him before but the second he mentioned this sixteen-year-old girl it was like he mentioned Charles Mansion or someone of that caliber. Maybe talking to Sheriff Hughes would help clear things up. Even though he really didn’t seem like _he_ wanted people to find Diana either…

_Maybe he had a bad day. Maybe he just doesn’t like reporters. Who knows?_

He knocked on the door of the house located a couple of feet behind the Spread Eagle. Lincoln had not been eager to point out the exact residence of the Sheriff, but he eventually caved in, probably realizing it would get Matthew off his back faster. 

Nobody answered at first but Matthew was insistent. He was _not_ gonna leave without any new information about this case. 

The door opened and the man in front of him glared at him before Matthew could even inhale to bring out a greeting. The man he presumed to be Sheriff Hughes was tall and broad, with short brown hair, slightly greying at the temples. His piercing blue eyes fixated on Matthew and he bristled, feeling like Hughes was memorizing every detail about Matthew, looking directly into his head and reading him like an open book. 

“ **_What.”_ **

Matthew involuntarily took a step back, fearing an attack from the man in front of him. Matthew was not a small man, but Sheriff Hughes still towered over him, looking much more intimidating with his bulging biceps as he crossed his arms in front of his body. Matthew eyed the tattoos on Sheriff Hughes’ arm, spotting a small, almost faded one right on his wrist. 

_Diana. 03.06.76._

Matthew collected himself and cleared his throat. 

“Sheriff Hughes, I presume?”

“What gave it away, the name on the mailbox or the cop car in my driveway?”, Hughes barked and Matthew felt like he was shrinking in his presence. 

“I… Uh… Your colleague Lincoln told me where you lived. I… I am Matthew Graham. I am a journalist from Boston”, Matthew brought out, pulling his card out of his jacket and presenting it to Hughes. 

He might as well have given Hughes some horse shit the way he eyed it, absolutely refusing to take the card. 

“Boston”, he repeated. 

“Take it you’re not here for the Testy Festy, huh?”

 _I do not want to know what that is. I do not want to know what that is_ , Matthew thought to himself, managing a weak smile. 

“Heh, no. I am actually… specializing in missing persons cases. I came across some cases in the area and your daughter was one of them.” 

Hughes’ lips became a thin line and his jaw tightened, bringing out the muscles in his neck. 

“May I… talk to you about this for a moment?”

“Leave me the fuck alone. My daughter is _dead_ ”, Hughes growled. 

“But… how do you know? Plenty of missing women are found alive, even this many years later! She could be out there, just waiting to get her story out… And to be reunited with her father, of course!”, Matthew said, putting on his most optimistic-sounding journalist voice. _Good save there, man_ , he thought to himself. 

Hughes’ eyes narrowed. 

Matthew always thought of himself as an intelligent man - oftentimes boasting about it in very inappropriate situations - but nonetheless, here he was, trying to lie to a Sheriff. 

“What part of _dead_ don’t you understand?”, Hughes said, his voice changing, suddenly getting louder. 

“She is _not_ out there. She is _not_ waiting for anything, especially not your fucking book deal. I’ve had enough of people like you to last me a fucking lifetime. You fucking vultures, just circling around a corpse just waiting for your next _fucking_ meal ticket, huh?”, Hughes suddenly stepped closer. 

Matthew took another step back, looking down the street, hoping someone would come along. 

Nobody was there, and something told Matthew that even if someone _had_ come across this scenario, they would’ve averted their eyes, leaving the Sheriff to do his business, as usual. 

“But… how can you be sure?”

“BECAUSE SHE IS _MY_ FUCKING DAUGHTER AND I WOULD KNOW”, Hughes roared, driving his finger into Matthew’s chest. 

“She is _my_ kid and _I_ know what happened. I fucking hate every single one of you fucking wannabe investigators thinking your ten fucking minutes of googling around would do more than multiple years of _official police investigation_ . Is that why you’re here? You want someone to stroke your nuts on fucking Reddit for solving this case? Or do you just want to write a book? You got the cities for your book tour picked out already too, huh? That what you’re trying to do? Just fucking _coast_ on your royalties, profiting off of _my_ dead daughter?”

“Edward.”

Matthew’s savior came in the form of a red-haired woman, probably around Matthew’s age. She was slowly descending the stairs inside, eyeing the events from a safer distance. 

Edward turned around and looked at the woman. 

“Get back upstairs. I got this, okay?”

She put her hands on her hips, cocking an eyebrow. 

“I heard shouting. It doesn’t really sound like you got this.”

Hughes huffed, stepping back inside the house. He jerked his thumb vaguely in Matthew’s direction. 

“This fucker here decided to waltz in here and start asking questions about _my personal business_.”

The woman looked at Hughes and then at Matthew - then she sighed. 

“Let me guess: Diana?”

“Yes”, Matthew answered, pulling the missing person’s poster out of his bag, smoothing it out and handing it to the woman. 

“Are you Diana’s mother? No article ever mentioned you before, I-”

“Diana. Does. Not. Have. A. Mother”, Hughes growled at him, giving Matthew a look that once again made him feel like he was no taller than five feet. 

The woman took the poster out of his hands and studied it. 

“Hmm”, she said, inspecting the poster closer. 

“Edward. This one has your current phone number on it. It’s also watermarked with the Sheriff’s Department’s logo. Did you print new ones recently?”

“What? No, Mina made me change the number recently. Also, why would we? It’s been a cold case since the nineties”, Hughes pulled the paper out of her hands and inspected it. 

He shot a threatening glance at Matthew. 

“Where did you get this?”, he asked. 

Matthew swallowed, once again feeling very intimidated by the man. Should he simply come clean that he found it in his hometown several hours away, looking like it just came out of the printer, despite the case being over twenty years old? Should he risk being viewed as insane or a fraud? Should he risk _lying_ to an established Sheriff?

“I… found it.”

“You… _found_ a missing persons poster? Watermarked with the logo of our Sheriff’s Department? Looking like this? With Edwa-Sheriff Hughes’ new _private_ phone number on it?”

“It hung on a bulletin board in my hometown”, Matthew confessed. 

“Hm. ...Maine, right? Spent a lot of time in Boston?”, the woman said after eyeing him once more. 

Matthew gave a short, joyless laugh. _Oh look who wanted to play smart_ , he thought. 

“Your accent isn’t from around here either. You’re not native. Recently moved here.”

She put her hands on her hips again, but Matthew didn’t pay her any more attention. Instead, he looked at Hughes, who was still studying the poster. 

Matthew tried to decipher his body language. He didn’t seem as angry as he did before. He looked somehow… sunken. Older than before. A deep crevice between his brows. When Matthew still went to his group therapy sessions, the general consensus had always been that losing a child was the worst thing that could happen to a parent. 

Matthew did not want to say that he could necessarily _relate_ to Hughes, there must be a huge difference between knowing your child for so long and raising it and… whatever happened to Matthew. 

He shoved that thought aside, focusing on Hughes again. 

“You’ve seen it on a bulletin board, huh? Looked like someone placed it there?”, Hughes murmured. 

“No, actually. I had to pull away some older looking posters on top of it.”

Hughes shook his head. 

“Look, with all due respect, Mister Graham-” 

“Which is none”, added Hughes, roughly shoving the poster back into Matthew’s hand. 

“Edward. Please. Be civil.”

She looked back at Matthew. 

“With all due respect… we don’t _want_ you here. You’re not needed. Edward knows exactly what happened to his daughter, and exactly where she is. I would take you to her gravestone, but I honestly don’t trust you not to take pictures of it. I’ve seen the case files, I’ve seen the-”

“Evan.”, Hughes interrupted her. 

“Listen, Graham. Either you’re a fraud or just an idiot. There’s things here you don’t know, that you don’t _need_ to know. This is Montana, we handle our own shit here. It’s best you better leave. Don’t go poking around in things you don’t know how to handle. Got it? Perfect.”

And with that, Hughes, once again seething with rage, pulled Evan back into the house and slammed the door shut right in Matthew’s face. 

_Well. That could’ve gone better._

_*_

Matthew knew enough about small towns to know that there were always two specific types of people who had more information about the residents than any other. The local bar owner, whom he’d already met, and the priest. 

Feeling defeated, he decided to steer towards the chapel in Fall’s End, taking notice of the lifelessness of the small town. No children out on the streets. Nobody was out on the streets in general. If he didn’t know better he’d assume this town was simply dead. 

_Over 50 young adults went missing or died, including the daughter of the Sheriff. Something was really, really wrong here._

The church was mostly empty, as no one seemed to be in the mood to pray at ten in the morning that day. Matthew couldn’t blame them. He remembered how incredibly tedious it was to go to church on a weekend. His mother pinching his cheeks for a bit of color, combing his hair until it lay flat on his head, almost like a helmet. Back then, during those few years where there had been only one child in the house. 

“Hi there”, Matthew called out as he saw a figure coming around the corner of the head of the church. The man, probably only a few years older than Matthew himself, looked up and smiled knowingly. 

“I was wondering when you would come along. Caused quite a bit of commotion with the folks here”

Matthew suddenly missed the anonymity of Boston, how nobody gave a shit about as long as you kept out of their space. How nobody even gave you a second glance most days. He knew from his hometown how bad the gossip could get, especially how quickly it spread, so he was not sure why he had been expecting it to be any different in Montana. 

Matthew held out his hand and smiled. 

“Matthew Graham. I am just here to ask a few questions. You the priest here?”

“Pastor. Name’s Jerome. I heard you’re going around talking to people. If I heard that screaming a couple of minutes ago right, you even went to Ed himself, huh?”, he said as they shook hands. 

“Figured I’d go straight to the source”, Matthew said. 

Logical explanation. Go directly to the father of the missing girl. Wasn’t his fault Edward Hughes was such a _special_ case. 

“Guess he didn’t like that.”

“Can’t say he did”, Matthew said, pulling his recorder out of his pocket. 

Jerome watched him with mild interest, one eyebrow raised. 

“You got anything out of the locals?”, he inquired. 

“I got… something, I guess. I… Can’t make sense of it though.”

“Pray tell.”

“Well, first of all. Why the _hell_ is no one agreeing on a surname for her? Can we be sure that’s the same person they’re all referring to? Diana is not an uncommon name.”

“Oh, trust me. Nobody is confusing Diana with anyone else in this county”, Jerome mumbled. 

“You knew her?”

“Yeah, sure I knew her. Everyone knew Brandy Bell, her grandmother. Her grandfather Elijah was the pastor before me. Diana was… known at school. Everyone knew the undertaker’s daughter. And kids are cruel.”

“She seemed… inconspicuous. Why the malice for an innocent and bullied teenager?”

Jerome bit his lip, refusing to meet Matthew’s eyes. He looked out the window, toward the north, and sighed. 

“Mister Graham”, Jerome took his glasses off and began to absentmindedly clean them with the hem of his shirt. Matthew following his every movement. 

“We do not want outsiders here. We like to handle our own business, but I’ll tell you this much. Diana Crawford might’ve been a poor, bullied, ostracized teenager when she disappeared but she certainly was not when she came back. Especially not after it became clear _who_ she brought with her.”

“What do you mean?”, asked Matthew. 

Jerome gave him a stern look. 

“Let this go. You think you’re the first person to come looking for a ghost?”

“How can you guys be so sure that she _is_ really dead? And how many people have come here before me?”

“I spoke at her service”, Jerome said grimly. 

“Yes, fine, but have any of you _seen_ her? Her body?”

Jerome looked at him. For a second it appeared as if he wanted to say something but the pastor simply shut his mouth and shook his head. 

“Let this go. Trust me.” 

He sighed, studying the floor he was standing on. 

“Mister Graham. Hope County is beautiful. Enjoy the sights, let this go. Go fishing, maybe. Go to the State Park but stay on the main road if you do. There’s so much more to this place than ghost stories, alright?”

And with that, the conversation was over. Jerome politely nodded at him and then turned around on his heels, disappearing behind a corner. Matthew heard the door shut and huffed. 

_Great._


	6. Chapter Six

The contrast of the dimmed light of the church and the sun shining brightly outside was quite jarring and Matthew squinted and groaned after he stepped outside once more. He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming and sighed. 

He almost kicked a bucket standing at the side of the small pathway leading towards the main street but he stopped himself before anyone could see him. 

“Hey”, someone said, causing Matthew to jump. He rubbed his eyes and saw a young girl sitting on top of the rock wall in front of the church. 

“Ugh, hello”, Matthew answered, still trying to reorient himself.  _ God, this used to be easier when he was younger _ , he thought. 

“I’m Zip”, the girl continued. 

“Hi”, Matthew said again, trying to worm his way past her but she put her legs in the opening of the wall like she was planning on only letting him pass after he solved her riddle. 

“May I please pass?”, he grumbled. He was usually a bit more courteous than that but  _ god _ , was he frustrated. Nobody in this damn town wanted to tell him anything. It was not just that they simply did not  _ know  _ where she went, no, they  _ knew  _ and he knew that, they just did not  _ want  _ to tell him. What interest did they have in concealing facts from him like that? Even small-town folks wouldn’t be that stubborn and secretive, right?  _ Right? _

He had to remind himself that nobody asked him to come here. He was the intruder, the outsider. They had no reason or obligation to tell him things that happened decades ago but by god why the secrecy? 

“So, you got anything out of my old man?”, she asked, smiling at him, undeterred by the icy gaze Matthew pointed at her. 

“Your old man, huh?”

“Yep. Zip Jeffries is the name but don’t tell anyone.”

“Nice to meet you”, Matthew grumbled, once again attempting to get past her. 

“Successful interrogation, yes or no?”, she inquired. 

“No.”

Zip grinned at him. 

“I would’ve expected more of a journalist from Boston, I gotta say”, she said, cocking her head to the side. 

Matthew finally looked up, studying her face. She definitely had Jerome’s face but nothing else would give away her relation to the pastor of all people. She was wearing an old, weathered-looking hat, a black shirt with the logo of a band Matthew had never heard of embroidered on it, and cut off jeans shorts, together with heavy-looking black boots, almost reaching her knees. Matthew saw some tie-dyed socks poking out at the top. 

_ Huh _ . 

“Your father is more modern than I thought he’d be”, Matthew admitted. 

“Nah, I’m just hella convincing. And stubborn”, she said, her smile only broadening. 

He shook his head. 

“You googled me, huh?”

“Yup, sure did. Asked Mary for your name. Nice car. Ed Hughes yellin’ at this time of the day already. Must be a journalist, I figured. Or, you know… John Seed”, she said, giggling at her own joke. 

“Who?”

“Not important. I hear you’re looking for Diana, huh? Not surprised nobody wants to tell you anything. Gotta say,  _ hella _ balls on you, going to the Sheriff like that like jesus fucking christ dude. Awesome. I’ve known him since I was little and I’m still scared to go to his house. Had to bring him something that one time. Took me seven minutes to muster up the courage to even step foot on his property. Man’s scary.”

“Yeah...I noticed”, Matthew admitted. He looked to the side towards the Spread Eagle. The group of men, including Lincoln, just left the bar, slowly making their way back to their trucks and horses. Not before checking out Matthew’s car, naturally. He scoffed. 

“Okay, listen...I ain’t supposed to say shit like that but...If you wanna find out, like...If you  _ really  _ wanna find what happened to Diana and if you’re willing to do the hard parts of the journalist job then there’s only one place you’re gonna find answers. Go north. There’s an island on the road to the Whitetails. Not the first one, the second one. The bigger one. Can’t miss it. Giant fence around it. Find a driveway, go down, ask for Joseph. Or, if you’re feeling brave - ask for  _ The Father _ .”

Something about the way she said those last words made the hair at the back of his neck stand up and he shivered as a cold wind blew through the streets, sending stray dead leaves flying across the empty road. 

“What is that supposed to mean? And how is that supposed to help me? No offense of course”

Zip simply shrugged. 

“Dunno. The oldies like tellin’ stories about  _ how the nightingale sang so sweetly, even the devil came to listen to her _ ”, she said, adding air quotes for emphasis. 

“Again, what the  _ hell  _ is that supposed to mean?”

The young girl in front of him opened her mouth to answer but a sharp  _ “Zipporah!”  _ made them both flinch and look toward the source of the sound. 

Jerome was standing in the archway of the church, arms crossed in front of his chest, looking not mad but simply a bit...disgruntled. 

“Are you  _ really  _ already done with your homework, young lady?” 

Zip frowned, obviously embarrassed by her father's sudden appearance and she shot a glance at Matthew. He shrugged. 

Oh, how well he remembered getting embarrassed by his old man. Builds character, though, so he wasn’t gonna say anything. Last thing he wanted was to piss  _ another  _ father off. 

Zip withdrew her legs and jumped off the fence, walking towards her father while groaning loudly. 

“It’s the first week of school, dad, nobody cares”, she argued but Jerome simply shook his head at her, beckoning her inside the church while giving Matthew another nod. 

He took that as his sign to leave but he did not go back into his room at the Spread Eagle, instead getting into his car and simply sitting there for a moment, thinking about what Zip had told him. 

Matthew had felt like he was stumbling around in the dark, grasping at straws that weren’t really helpful, hoping for  _ any  _ kind of information. The cryptic shit the locals told him really just put him right where he was when he came here but with Zip… He had directions to something, he had a name.  _ Joseph. The Father _ . 

_ Another priest? _ , he thought, watching that yellow dog he saw when he first arrived here play with some leaves. 

_ And what did she mean with the nightingale and devil, the hell was that? _ , he continued, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. 

_ Something was going on here. Diana didn’t just vanish, the locals knew what happened. Hughes didn’t seem like he had anything to do with her disappearance. That theory went right out of the window, didn’t it?  _

Matthew checked himself in the mirror. He really should’ve shaved before he left, he looked  _ horrible _ . No wonder barely anyone took him seriously. 

_ So much for my credibility _ , he thought grimly but couldn’t help but grin. What a wackjob he was. 

He straightened his hair and sighed. 

Even though he really didn’t get the information he wanted, he finally felt like he was onto something. Mary had mentioned that person in the north yesterday and now Zip gave him directions to the north once again. Did that Joseph person know where Diana went? 

_ What’s the worst thing that could happen? _ , he asked himself before backing out of the driveway and making his way up to the north. 

He followed Zip’s directions as best as he could, given the fact that he did not know how to navigate Montana backroads  _ and  _ the fact that there was absolutely no signal in this area so he couldn’t even use his GPS to find it more easily. But Zip was right, the giant fence around the island was not easy to miss. Matthew got a strange feeling as he crossed the bridge leading to what was obviously a private area and he noticed people at the side of the road, standing there. Next to their identical looking trucks. Watching. 

_ Montana is fucking weird _ , he just thought and continued his journey towards this gated-off commune. 

As he made his way down the hill towards this clearing on the island, he noticed more and more people standing around. At the side of the road, sitting on some boulders and fences, a few patrolling the small watchtowers they had - for some odd reason. He made his way closer to the barrier at the entrance, where he was greeted by a man wearing a comfortable-looking woolen sweater. 

“Greetings, brother. Can we help you?”, the man asked, smiling at him. 

“I...Uh”, Matthew started, shocked by such a friendly greeting. A stark contrast to what the residents of Fall’s End had given him. 

“I… Um...I am looking for Joseph?”, he said. 

The man’s smile broadened. 

“All who are searching are welcomed here and the Father is always ready to answer the unanswerable. Come, let us take care of your car, I promise no harm will come to it. The Father will see you soon” 

Matthew didn’t know what drove him at that moment but he got out of the car, shoving his recorder into his pocket in the process. The man who had greeted him opened the gate and beckoned him inside while another man got into his truck and drove it away. 

He was almost immediately surrounded by people, everyone trying to shake his hands, everyone asking him questions -  _ How are you, brother? How have you heard of the Father? Did his words guide you here, too?  _ \- asking if he was hungry, thirsty and after the crowd dispersed, he was somehow holding a cup in his hand. 

_ What the fuck just happened? _ , he thought, his head dizzy from the sudden influx of people and the overwhelming smell of honeysuckle in the air. 

He looked around their small commune and saw some pastures with chickens, some cows, sheep and pigs running around. There were several dogs lazing around in the sun, a few kids surrounding one of them, eagerly petting it. 

To his left, he saw people in a small garden, ripe with produce. They were chatting, checking the various fruits and vegetables, watering the flowers around it, some were washing some laundry by hand. He even saw an older looking lady in a rocking chair, knitting what was presumably another one of their woolen sweaters, another small child on a stool next to her, wooden needles in their small hands, eagerly watching the swift movements of the older woman in an attempt to learn. 

He heard distant singing and laughing and he frankly couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. 

Fall’s End appeared so empty, so lifeless; the only time there was life, it had been in the Spread Eagle. Up here it seemed so… different. It truly felt like a community. 

He whistled lowly through his teeth as he watched a bunch of men walk past him, all with at least one dead deer on their backs. 

It felt… peaceful up here. Matthew looked around, suddenly overwhelmed by the same feeling one got upon returning home after a long time away. Like sinking into a bath after a hard day at work. He took a sip of his drink, carefully at first, expecting it to be hot, but it was exactly the right temperature to just gulp it down in one go. 

“Thank you”, he said, nodding at the young woman who came to take his empty mug away from him. 

She gave him a bright smile and disappeared into one of the houses, as Matthew slowly began to make his way towards the big white church watching over the rest of the small community. 

“The Father is waiting for you, brother. Welcome home”, someone said behind him.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for discussion about child loss, drug mention

Matthew reverently walked through the white iron gate reading  _ Church of Eden’s Gate _ , taking notice of all the details forged into the metal arbor: swords, scales and what appeared to be flowers. 

He didn’t notice that one person was not impressed by his arrival and was already taking in every detail of Matthew, scrutinizing him from a distance. 

Matthew eventually arrived at the end of the arbor, now entirely captivated by the details in the door to the church. He studied the words carved into the white wood making up the facade, enraptured in such a way that he did not even consider taking a photo. 

Squealing eventually tore his attention away from the church and Matthew saw a small group of kids sitting in the sand next to the shore, various bright flowers surrounding them. He saw another teenager, sitting cross legged on a small lawn chair, singing a song Matthew hadn’t heard since the last time he went to church, while skillfully weaving a flower crown in her lap. 

He also saw a man crouching next to the group, one of the small kids on his shoulders, another one hugging his arm and another one attempting to put a flower crown on his head. The man playfully ducked away from the small girl and flower crown, each attempt resulting in more joyful squealing. 

One of the community members eventually took notice of Matthew standing there and she slowly came closer to him. 

“Hi!”, she cheerfully greeted. 

“Are you looking for someone? Can I help you?”, she offered. 

“I… I am looking for Joseph”, he said again, with much more confidence this time even though his head was still spinning. 

“Oh, yeah… Of course you are. Silly me. I’m not him, obviously”, she giggled. 

“I’m Cassandra and the Father is over there!”, she then added, cocking her thumb in the direction of the shore. 

“You want me to get him?”

Matthew nodded, still watching the man as more and more kids piled on top of him in an attempt to put their flower crowns on his head. 

Cassandra then walked over to the man, carefully tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention. She leaned over, pointing at Matthew and seemingly whispered something into the man’s ear. He nodded in return, smiling at her and got up, careful not to hurt any of the kids who were now loudly protesting. 

“It’s okay, don’t worry, he’s gonna be right back, he just has to talk to this nice man over there!”, Cassandra soothed and suddenly ten little heads turned toward him. Matthew gave them an awkward wave, hoping they wouldn’t decide he would make a great victim for their flower crown attack. 

“Don’t worry, you can put your crowns on me, I’ll take care of them for the Father!”, she then added and the kids cheered - only to attempt to climb her immediately after. 

Now entirely free of children scaling him, the man approached Matthew with a calm smile. He could not be older than Matthew, even though the man had a certain… look in his eyes that seemed to age him. His demeanor was calm but decided and the hand he extended as a greeting was firm but welcoming, rough from years of physical labor. 

“Welcome to our home, my name is Joseph Seed, most people call me the Father. What would you like me to call you?”, he said softly. 

“My name is Matthew Graham, pleased to meet you”, he said, looking down at the hand he was still shaking - and he froze when he saw a familiar face illustrated on Joseph Seed’s skin. 

_ Diana. _

He tried to keep up his facade, smiling brightly at the man in front of him. 

“Ah, Matthew. Are you a religious man, Mister Graham? Do you know about the apostle Matthew?”, Joseph asked, putting his hand on Matthews back and using the other to beckon him away from the larger group of people. Matthew followed without protest. 

“Meaning  _ gift of god _ , Matthew wrote the first book of the New Testament. A true scholar, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yeah, sure”, Matthew mumbled. 

“Many people revere him as a saint. Associating him with one of the four beasts full of eyes that stands around the throne of God”, Joseph continued. 

“But, don’t let me bore you too much, I am certain old stories are not the reason you are here, right? So, my child, what brings you here on this day?” 

“I… Uh…”, he stammered, once again looking at the tattoo on Joseph’s wrist. Same hair, same nose, same eyes. That look of... _ otherworldliness  _ still on her face, despite the artistic interpretation of whoever did that tattoo. 

“I’m a writer. Journalist these days”, Matthew quickly said. 

“Staying true to your name sake from the old book, I see”, Joseph remarked, leading him further away from the main part of the commune. 

“You are not from around here, I presume”, he added. 

“No, I am from Boston. Well, Bar Harbor, Maine actually but I moved away from there after I married my girlfriend from High School, you know. Had some big dreams”, Matthew said. 

_ Why are you telling him this shut up.  _

“Boston, huh?”, Joseph said. 

“Yeah, seemed like a good idea at the time. Finally seeing a big city. I...I had a very successful book a couple of years ago. Paid for a nice apartment for quite a while. Heather, my...well, then she was my wife, I guess, she always wanted to move to some suburb to have a family. We...We really weren’t, you know, preparing for anything for a while but a couple of years ago we decided it was time. We’ve been dating since we were both sixteen, always sure we’d spend the rest of our lives together. That kind of love story only dumb kids can dream of, you know?”, Matthew gushed. 

“Yes, I know what you mean”, Joseph mumbled, eyes averted to the ground - or, more precisely, his forearm. 

Matthew barely gave him time to speak before he opened his mouth again, unable to stop himself. 

“Thought I had my entire life planned out but… Didn’t scare me a bit. I loved Heather, I had a great life with her. We weren’t rich but well off. Had some nice vacations here and there but mostly just focused on the job. Thought what we were doing was good. Now, looking back, I… I wish I could’ve done some things differently” 

_ Why are you telling him this, why the FUCK are you telling him all this _ , a small voice in his head screamed but his judgement felt increasingly clouded, his mouth seemed to be an entirely different entity, with him unable to stop it. 

There was a thought in the back of his mind, a clouded one, but insistent. Probably the only rational thought he had for a long time. 

_ They drugged you _ . 

He pushed the thought aside. 

Mountain air. 

“I had it all: beautiful wife, nice apartment, already looking out for houses in the suburbs, a book tour all planned… Truly thought I really, really made it. Until one day I just… Didn’t” 

_ Stop _ , he thought.  _ Stop. Excuse yourself. Leave.  _

Matthew’s head was spinning and he was convinced the only reason he was still standing was the iron grip Joseph Seed had on his back. 

“Heather and I tried to get pregnant. Very late, just...a couple of years ago actually. We were both thirty-eight, you know. Doctor said we should adopt but...we didn’t really wanna. Against our pride. Dumbasses, both of us. We wanted a baby of our own and you never think  _ you’re  _ gonna be the ten percent, you know...The one in eight. So we tried and lo and behold, we got pregnant with our first child”, Matthew continued, feeling his chest tighten. 

“We were  _ so  _ careful. Heather read all of those blogs, all the books. Avoided everything. No coffee, no cheese, no cold cuts,  _ nothing _ . Took her vitamins like her life depended on it. I bought a new mattress because the other one was not supporting her the way she should’ve been supported when she was sleeping. I did  _ everything  _ for her. I  _ wanted  _ this child. Then...when the due date came, we were at the hospital. People said she should get a c-section, she didn’t want to. Another thing about pride”, Matthew chuckled joylessly. 

“I… I still don’t know what exactly happened. Suddenly, doctors and nurses are sitting me down and telling me I gotta make a choice. Save the baby or my wife and I thought it was a joke, you know. What kind of cruel prank is that? But they were serious. Save Heather or the baby. And...I thought I did the right thing back then. Thought, you know, could always have a new child but never a new Heather, right?”, he looked at Joseph who seemed pale and very much unlike the friendly person he had met a while ago. His gaze was now entirely fixated on the ground underneath them, his jaw tightened. 

“So...That’s what I tell people. I was a father...for a minute”, Matthew concluded, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. 

Joseph’s iron grip changed and he began to slowly stroke Matthew’s back. The gesture would normally be way too intimate for someone you just met but Matthew felt oddly comforted by it, almost leaning into it. 

“It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been a father for, all that matters is that you loved your child”, Joseph said slowly, a strange strain in his voice. 

Matthew looked up at him, both men sharing an odd moment of understanding, even if Matthew himself knew  _ nothing  _ about this strange man. 

“Heather never forgave me. Never looked at me the same way ever again. We...Had to plan the funeral...Only talked about the most necessary stuff. We didn’t really talk about anything anymore. Just like that, I had lost the love of my life”, Matthew said. 

He still remembered how quiet the house was when they returned. Matthew had brought the baby carrier and the hospital bag back home while Heather was still recovering. No baby, no wife. She didn’t want to see him, she said. He was alone in this giant house they had bought to give their child the best life they could afford and now it was empty. Matthew dumped the hospital bag in the trash before he even went inside. He planned on destroying the baby carrier with an axe but opted to sell it instead. When people asked him why he was selling it he simply told people that his plans had changed. 

Baby shoes, never worn. How he had laughed about this dumb story in college. 

Baby carrier, never used, he then wrote into that small description field on craigslist many years later. 

You never think it’s gonna hit  _ you _ . 

“We got divorced shortly after but… Dunno, it’s like she died, too” 

“There is no greater pain than losing that to which you have given your heart”, Joseph agreed. 

Now, once again, Matthew was not dumb. 

_ But _ . 

What he did next, that was dumb. 

“Was that how you felt when Diana died?” 


	8. Chapter Eight

The other man stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Excuse me?”, he asked, calmly, as if he was trying to give Matthew a chance to rethink what he just said. 

“Diana. The tattoo… Was… Was she the one you gave your heart to?”, Matthew said, unable to stop himself once more. 

His tongue felt sticky with sweetness, once again overwhelmed by the smell and taste of honeysuckle. He felt dizzy, his surroundings appearing almost dreamlike and all of a sudden he wasn’t so sure of the existence of the man in front of him anymore. 

_ What the fuck was in that tea they gave me? _

“I think it’s time for you to leave”, Joseph then said, his voice much colder than before. His smile did not budge, though it no longer reached his eyes. Even though they were shielded by the yellow aviators, Matthew still saw a coldness in them that made him flinch. 

“I was told you were the one to give me answers about her. Why won’t you talk about her?”, Matthew argued, anger swelling up in his chest despite his lopey state of mind. He was  _ not  _ going to leave without any answers again. 

The man in front of him had Diana tattooed on his wrist. He  _ knew _ something. 

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Matthew. I think you should leave this very instant. My flock will not bother you but you should leave  _ now. _ ”

Joseph turned around without another word and Matthew could’ve sworn he saw Joseph bite his lip as if he had planned on saying something else. As he walked away, he slowly pulled down the sleeves that previously exposed both of his forearms and disappeared into the church. 

_ Shit _ . 

Matthew looked around. Barely anyone was paying him any attention anymore, despite their  _ Father  _ abandoning him so hastily. They were back to doing their thing; knitting, singing, watering the flowers. 

Against his better judgement and unwilling to leave this strange place without any answers again, he began approaching various members and asked them if they knew Diana Crawford. Most of them simply shook their heads and immediately returned to their chores but occasionally he was met with widened eyes and few of them muttered  _ Mother _ . 

Matthew did not know what to make of  _ that  _ but he was getting increasingly frustrated that nobody was giving him a concrete answer once again. 

_ Come on, you probably bang each other every second Sunday why can’t you just tell me if you fucking know her or not.  _

Matthew’s tongue began to feel dry and heavy as the effects of his ominous tea wore off and he was craving a simple cold glass of water more than anything but he wanted answers and he was going to get them. 

As he was once again turned away from one of the older members, he felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned around, scared it was going to be Joseph himself, unhappy he still hadn’t left, or maybe one of the people from the watchtower, the ones who actually appeared to be armed but no, it was another young blonde girl, smiling up at him. 

“I hear you’re asking questions. I have answers. Follow me” 

She turned on her heels and began to walk, shooting nervous glances at the chapel and beckoning him to keep up. He tried to be less obvious about him following her but once again, the members weren’t paying him or the young woman any mind. 

She opened the door to one of the smaller white cabins and he followed her inside. The door shut immediately behind him. 

“The Father forbids us to talk about the Mother, you know”, one of the women sitting on the floor said, looking up to Matthew. 

“You are either very brave or very stupid to be going around askin’ questions like that”, another woman said. 

Matthew looked at her. Out of all of the other women that sat on the floor, she was definitely the eldest, sitting on an armchair next to a burning fire, another sweater in her hand. It was a minor thing but Matthew couldn’t help but admire that they were making their sweaters themselves. It’s been such a long time since he’d even seen anyone handmake clothing. 

She had thick wavy hair that shone like gold in the firelight, with only her temples appearing to be slightly greying. Unlike the other women she was not wearing one of those sweaters, instead donning a thick cremé-colored dress, embroidered with blue wildflowers. She was not wearing any shoes and her nails were painted a surprisingly daring red. 

“With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”, Matthew asked, stepping closer to the woman in the chair. 

“My name is Hope Seed, one of the three Heralds of Virtue of the Project. Some may even call me the Keeper”, she said with a slight hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“The Keeper of what?”, he inquired. 

“Joseph’s flock. Our family”

Then, after a short pause she rolled her eyes and said: “Basically an underpaid nurse”

Matthew grinned. 

“So, a nurse?”

Hope laughed, hiding her smile behind her free hand before continuing fixing the sweater in her lap. 

“Funny. I like it. Lots of people got sticks so far up their asses I’m always surprised I don’t see them sticking out their throats when they’re singing in our sermons”

“Pleasure to meet you. Are you Joseph’s wife?”

Hope physically recoiled at that question, sticking out her tongue and shivering. 

“Oh god,  _ no _ . He’s my brother. Not by blood but by choice”

After considering for a moment she added: “Not a good one, though” 

“How come?”, Matthew said, hoping for some - as the youths would call it -  _ juicy drama _ . He reached into the pocket of his jacket and turned his recorder on. 

“Ah, don’t listen to me. We’ve known each other for decades, this is the kind of back and forth between us. Friendly teasing, nothing more. Even if he annoys the shit out of me sometimes” 

“Hope, you really shouldn’t talk about the Father like that”, the girl who led him here said quietly. 

“Listen, hun. I’ve known your Father when he was still sellin’ peaches in Georgia, I talk about him however the hell I want, get it?”

The girl bit her lip and shook her head but didn’t say anything anymore. 

“So, you’re not from around here. You looking for someone?”, Hope then asked. 

“Well, yes. I am looking for Diana”

“Why”

Matthew wordlessly pulled the missing persons poster out of his pocket and gave it to Hope. 

“Found it hanging on the board in front of our Police Station. Went home, googled her name, found nothing new since the nineties. Wanted to find out more. Seems like your  _ Father  _ knew her, huh?”

“You seen the tattoo, huh?”

The girl craned her neck to get a look at the picture but Hope folded it and handed it back to Matthew. 

“Cora. Stop this”, Hope warned. 

“How did he know her?”, Matthew asked. 

“They were married. Once. Seems like an eternity ago”, Hope said, a hint of sadness in her voice. 

She rubbed her temples. 

“Alright, Sir, I don’t know what you want to hear exactly. Diana and Joseph used to be married. He was called the Father, she was called the Mother. She died sixteen years ago. End of story”

“That’s not the truth, Hope”, the girl called Cora intervened. 

“Cora. We are not doing this again. You know what Joseph said the last time”, Hope warned once more. 

“The Mother was our savior”, one of the girls sitting on the floor began. 

“Joseph is our Prophet, our Shepherd but the Mother she is guiding us to the Gates when we leave this mortal plane”

Hope groaned. 

“I can’t say I agree with what the girls are saying but I might as well give you the full story. Diana took care of our dead when she was still alive. Basically our mortician. Undertaker, whatever. That was it. However,  _ some of us _ -”, here she casted a pointed glare at Cora, “-believe she was more than just that. But I  _ knew  _ her. I knew her long before she was the Mother  _ or  _ the Nightingale or whatever nickname anyone here gave her. She was just a woman”

Matthew looked at Cora who glared at Hope indignantly. He was sensing some tension between the two of them but Matthew decided not to get into their family drama. 

“Some prefer to worship her in a rather… Unhealthy way, if you ask me. Praying to her to grant them an easy pregnancy, easy childbirth. Thanking for healthy babies while I’m elbow deep in their privates actively making  _ sure  _ that baby comes out fine. Do I get a thanks or a prayer?  _ No! _ ” 

Hope shook her head. 

“Praying to someone who died decades ago like she’s gonna show up and save us or something. People say she’s gonna guide the ones who won’t make it to our Eden in this life. And I’m just here like  _ fellas,  _ Diana didn’t even hold the elevator doors for people, y’all really think she’s gonna help ya?”

Matthew couldn’t help but smile. 

“Sounds like quite the character”, he remarked. 

“Oh, she was. The biggest fucking asshole I ever came across. And the best friend I’ve ever had”, Hope answered with a hint of sadness in her voice. 

Matthew still didn’t quite understand what exactly was going on here. Were they maybe confusing her with someone else? But that woman on Joseph’s arm  _ looked  _ like her. Jerome said she  _ returned _ with someone. 

_ The Nightingale sang so sweetly even the devil came to listen to her _ . Did they mean Joseph? Why would this group of people worship her if she was really just a woman.  _ Who  _ was Diana Crawford.  _ What the fuck was going on _ ?

“I can not believe you would even  _ say  _ those things after everything she did, Hope”, Cora huffed. 

“She or  _ you _ ?”, Hope snarked and Cora grimaced. 

Before Matthew could ask another question the door swung open, crashing against the wall so hard Matthew swore he heard the wood crack. 

The mood in the room changed almost instantly, some of the girls visibly flinching and recoiling. Cora immediately withdrew further into a corner. 

A low, gravely voice came from behind him, something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

“You.  _ Yankee _ . Over here. Now”, the voice commanded and Matthew turned around. 

When he turned around all he could see was a broad expanse of camo-clad shoulders and Matthew had to crane his neck upward to come face to face with the man in front of him. 

He met a pair of icy blue eyes. Those eyes belonged to a heavily scarred and bearded face. The man looked unkempt and angry, his fiery red hair a mess on the top of his head. Matthew immediately took a step back again. 

_ They really breed them differently up here, huh.  _

“You mean me?”, Matthew asked, barely masking his fear. 

“Anyone else a fuckin’ yankee in here, buddy?”, the man growled. 

“I don’t know, I just met them. Didn’t get the chance to-”, his snarky remark was interrupted as the man grabbed Matthew by the collar, almost lifting him off the ground entirely. 

“Jacob!”, Hope warned from her seat, almost sounding like an exasperated mother who had to warn her son once again not to pick up random sticks on their daily walk. She made no attempt to move, though. 

“Listen, I know everyone else been real nice to ya”, the man continued. 

“Others love newcomers. Not me. I knew were suspicious the second your fucking truck rolled down that hill. What’s your business tryna dig up the past here? Sheriff sent you? One of those girls from the Henbane paid you? What is it?” 

The man came so close to Matthew’s face, their noses almost touched. 

“He’s a journalist from Boston”, Cora said. 

_ You bitch _ , Matthew thought. 

“He’s been asking about the Mother, Brother Jacob”, one of the other girls on the floor said quietly. 

“So I’ve heard”, Jacob growled, never breaking eye contact. 

Matthew never understood exactly what people meant when they said they felt like a deer in the headlights but he did  _ now.  _

“Hope. Joseph wants to speak to you”, Jacob added, finally letting go of Matthew. 

Matthew tried his best not to stumble as he was lowered back onto the ground rather roughly. He cursed under his breath as Hope glided past him and Jacob shoved him to the entrance. 

The two of them stepped outside onto the compound, now deadly quiet. Before Jacob followed Matthew, he turned around once more, fixing his gaze on Cora. 

“Get ready. Imagine he’s gonna have a talk with you, too” 

“Oh, goody”, Cora mumbled from inside. 

“Go”, Jacob barked, once again shoving Matthew. 

“Fine! I’m going, jesus. You know, I could sue you for aggravated assault”, Matthew protested. 

“Pff. I’d love to see you try”, Jacob answered. 

They walked past the same people Matthew saw when he first arrived but the mood had changed entirely. People were stock-still, watching Jacob out of the corner of their eyes, not daring to make direct eye contact with him. Even the animals seem to understand what was going on because there was no dog barking, no cow mooing, no pigs squealing, nothing. 

_ Well, shit _ , Matthew thought to himself as he stumbled across the dirt path, Jacobs boots hitting him in the back of his ankles once in a while, trying to force him to walk faster. 

“It would be in your best interest if you don’t come back”, he then said as Matthew came closer to his car. 

“You don’t wanna know what’s gonna happen if I see you around again. That ain’t a threat, that’s just advice. Got it?”

Jacob didn’t wait for an answer, however, instead just turned on his heels and walked back toward the chapel, where Matthew now spotted Joseph talking eagerly to Hope. 

_ Shit _ . 

He didn’t dare say another word, instead just got back into his car and drove back to Fall’s End. 


	9. Chapter Nine

Matthew had asked Mary May for a piece of paper upon his return. She gave him a strange look but didn’t ask any questions, simply dropped a legal pad and a pen branded with the logo of the Spread Eagle in front of him, brought him a beer and then returned to the counter. 

He tried not to wallow in self-pity and his head was still spinning, but he couldn’t help to mentally kick himself for his behavior today. 

_ For the record _ , he thought.  _ You went to this commune. Met this weird guy everyone calls the Father. Spilled all of your guts. Talked about Heather and Charlotte - something you haven't even done with your damn psychiatrist. Talked about all that with a guy you just met. Like a fucking idiot. And, on top of that, you didn’t even get to use that to trade in for more information.  _

_ So. What did we find out? Diana Crawford disappeared. But didn`t die back then. Why did nobody close her case? Unanswered. She brought someone back. Probably this Joseph Seed. But why? Unanswered. Apparently got married. People began to call her The Mother and/or The Nightingale. Why? Unanswered. She worked for them. People died. She took care of them. Did they kill them or was it natural causes? Unanswered. They seemed like a friendly commune up there but who knew. Where did Diana Crawford or Diana Seed go? What happened after she left?  _

Matthew scribbled down multiple phrases, all seemingly unrelated at first glance.  _ Heralds of Virtue. Nightingale. Mother. Cora. Crawford and Seed, same person? Big redheaded guy = threat. Hughes and Jerome knew Joseph? Joseph not over Diana? Joseph killed Diana? Is he hiding her? Or did she leave? Diana = Patron Saint? WTF?! _

He groaned and tossed his pen aside, burying his face in his hands. 

“Come on, handsome, don’t pull such a face. You’re gonna get wrinkles”, a voice said next to him and he looked up to see the face of another young woman carrying a beer on a tray. She was wearing black clothing and a small apron around her waist. He looked at her chest to check for a name tag but didn’t find any. 

Matthew smiled at her nonetheless. 

“Sorry to be such an eyesore, won’t happen again”

She smiled and put the beer down in front of him with a wink. 

“I didn’t order this”

“Mary said I should give it to you, on the house”, the young woman answered. 

“Whaddya doin’ there?”, she then asked motioning at the paper in front of him. 

“Trying to brainstorm”, he mumbled. 

“I’m Aubrey, by the way. I help Mary occasionally”, the young woman said as she put her tray aside and sat down on a barstool next to him. 

“Matthew”, he muttered. 

He should’ve known better than to try and brainstorm in a bar on a Saturday evening. But he didn’t want to go upstairs for some reason and a cold beer did  _ sound  _ nice after the day he had. 

“Hey, Aubrey. There’s some empty glasses on the table in the corner”, Mary said. 

“Wack”, Aubrey answered, turning her attention back to Matthew. 

Mary followed Aubrey’s gaze and grimaced when she saw Matthew. 

“Damn. You look like you been rode hard and put away wet. What happened?”, she inquired. 

Matthew assumed that meant that he looked like shit. 

His head was still pounding from the ordeal he went through, he felt exhausted, worn out and sweaty like he’d been hiking the entire day. He could also barely remember anything from the commune in the north, the details already slipping away like the images of a bad dream would shortly after waking up. Matthew was also surprised that it was already dark out. He could’ve sworn his journey to the north and back only lasted two hours tops. Yet, as he arrived back in Fall’s End, the landscape in front of him was already bathed in the golden light of a setting late summer sun. 

_ How long was I up there? _

He rubbed his temples and sighed. Did he really find out  _ anything _ important today? Anything cohesive? He felt like all he did today was talk and yet he felt like he was getting further away from solving the mystery with every new person he met. 

“Met some… interesting people today”, Matthew answered, not really in the mood to recount anything that happened today. Mary seemed to get the hint and went to get the empty glasses herself.

“You’re from Boston, right? Been all the old fucks are talking about. Said your car was ugly, too”, Aubrey said, not even attempting to move from her spot next to him. 

“Yeah. Lived in Boston for a while. That’s probably the most interesting thing that has happened here in a while, huh?”

Aubrey snorted. 

“You have no idea. But just wait until the Testy Festy. Nobody’s gonna remember your ass after that. Probably ‘cause Sharky or Hurk - or both of them - are gonna do some dumb shit again”, she shook her head and giggled, sending her carefully styled blonde ponytail flying. Matthew watched her, once again actively ignoring the mention of something called  _ Testy Festy,  _ and smiled. She didn’t seem like the type of person you’d find in a town like that. She looked too...Modern. Too polished. 

“You’re from around here?”, he asked. 

“Yeah. Lived here my entire life. Left for college with my cousin Jack couple of years ago. Recently came back, though. Jack’s still in Helena”, Aubrey shrugged. 

“Been working here ever since. Weird coming back to your hometown though. It’s like… Everything is different yet all stayed the same, you know? Just makes you realize how fucking slow everything and everyone is, ya know?”, she mused. 

“Yeah, I hear ya”, Matthew said, drawing little circles on the free spaces of his legal pad. 

“You’re a writer?”

“You could say that. I’m here looking for someone”

Aubrey nodded. 

“Yeah. Heard that one, too. Going to Hughes’ house of all people. Might as well try and poke a cougar with a spiked bat, huh” 

Matthew laughed at that. In retrospect, yeah it was kinda stupid to just go to the Sheriff’s house and ask questions but god damn he was willing to even go and indeed poke a cougar with a spiked bat if that fucking cougar could tell him more about Diana fucking Crawford. 

“You tryna find out about the peggies? Or just Diana?”

“Just Diana. I think”, Matthew said. 

Matthew didn’t really come here to make friends. He also didn’t come here to start getting into altercations with the local law enforcement or some scary looking dudes in communes. He tried to convince himself that he was really, truly just here for the story. If anyone had insisted or even just hinted that he was here because returning to Bar Harbor seemed like a failure to him, that the walls in his childhood home seemed to be closing in on him every day, he would’ve scoffed. Called them an idiot. No, he wasn’t here to run from his past, he’d say. But who knew. Maybe he was just chasing the story of a girl who disappeared, maybe  _ he  _ wanted to disappear himself. 

He didn’t even know what came over him that evening. Maybe it was frustration, maybe it was the after-effects of that  _ tea  _ he had received at the commune. God, maybe it was even the mention of Charlotte and Heather but he stayed with Aubrey all night. They moved from his seat at the counter, to a booth in the corner, putting their heads together like teenagers on a date. He recounted the information, she teased him by saying  _ Shit man, that the only thing you can talk about? Not even a fucking football game or somethin’  _ and he agreed. Fuck his story, he thought at that moment. He didn’t want to dig up  _ his  _ past, he still couldn’t believe he just told this dude everything about him. 

He didn’t notice the time flying by as he talked to Aubrey about her studies, her interests, her job. as they emptied bottle after bottle together. He didn’t notice Mary and another waitress putting up the chairs and sweeping the floor, not until Mary oh-so-subtly bumped against his shoes with the wet mop. 

“Don’t you have to work?”, Matthew asked. 

“My shift ended two hours ago”, Aubrey said, twirling a strand of her blonde hair, giving him a look he hadn’t seen in a long while. 

Then they moved again. From the booth to his bed. 


End file.
